


Ink and Incapability

by onemooncircles



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Rivalry, friend-fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemooncircles/pseuds/onemooncircles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline discovers Isabela's latest literary offering and is markedly unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink and Incapability

**Author's Note:**

> _Super-short silly drabble written for the April Fool's Bodyswap challenge on Tumblr.[Perahn](http://www.perahn.tumblr.com) asked for Isabela, Aveline, and horrible friend fiction. Titled with apologies to Richard Curtis._

“Guard Captain!”

Aveline looks up sharply from the stack of requisition forms in front of her, her shoulders stiffening, her back straightening in anticipation of whatever trouble the shout heralds. _Always when I’m busy_. Rushing footfalls approach from outside the office, and a moment later the small, slight form of her newest recruit appears in the doorway.

“Guard Captain,” Lia says again, standing to attention and sketching an awkward salute. The quartermaster still hasn’t been able to find armour to fit her properly: her cuirass swims on her, making her look like a child playing dress-up.

“What is it, Recruit?” Aveline asks, as patiently as she can. “I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through, here.”

The girl salutes again; the tips of her ears have begun to turn an apologetic pink. “I know, Captain,” she replies, “but I think you should see this.” She steps up to the desk and holds out two sheets of pink vellum, secured together on one side with a thin red ribbon. Aveline glares at them.

“If this is more toss from the Blooming Rose, Lia, I haven’t got time for it,” she says. “Issue them with a fine and tell Lusine I’ll have her licence if she does it again.”

“It’s not that, Captain,” Lia replies, and shifts her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “It’s, um … well … we just thought you should know about it. That Rivaini woman was handing copies out in the barracks this morning. Brennan saw her.”

 _Isabela_. Aveline draws in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. _Why today?_ She lets out a short, sharp huff of irritation, but she reaches out to take the proffered document anyway. “All right, Recruit,” she mutters, “let’s see what the fuss is about.”

Taking the vellum from the girl’s small pale hand she hunches forward, glancing over the first page. Isabela’s eccentric, spidery handwriting covers it from side to side, looping and sprawling and spattered here and there with blobs and drips of black ink. There is an excitable thumb-print in one corner. Skipping over the first few blurred and indistinct lines, she reads:

_‘…veline’s broad muscular shoulders, her copper tresses flowing over the pillows like the golden tendrils of some wild Fereldan plant. The lace collar …’_

Her frown becomes a deep, livid shelf above her hard green eyes. Her mouth twitches perceptibly and a strand of hair escapes her headband and falls across her face as if shaken loose by sheer vexation.

_‘… eyes dropping to the pirate queen’s heaving bosom like a drowning woman eyeing a piece of driftwood. Luscious, succulent driftwood. She … ’_

“Recruit?” Aveline’s tone is flint.

“Y-yes, Captain?”

“You’ll find the author of this … _code violation_ at the Hanged Man. I want a word with her.”

“Y-yes, Captain,” Lia says again. “Have I your permission to arrest her if she won’t come willingly?”

Aveline’s mouth curves into a small, tight smile. “You can clap her in irons if you like,” she says, and the girl nods and snaps off her awkward salute again before turning on her heel and double-timing her way out of the office.

As her footsteps die away, Aveline reaches into a drawer and takes out a bottle of red ink, a spare quill, and a little square of blotting paper. She flattens the document out in front of her on the desk, and her smile broadens into a hard-edged crescent as she dips her pen and begins to write.


End file.
